


A Different Sort of Firework

by nerdylittledude



Series: Ugly Sweater !Verse [15]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-29
Updated: 2012-08-29
Packaged: 2017-11-13 03:53:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/499164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdylittledude/pseuds/nerdylittledude
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the Fourth of July, and no one does red, white, and blue like two decidedly unpatriotic hunters. Their mutual lack of nationalistic pride does nothing to deter Cas from going all star angel'd banner for the holiday, though. While spending a day in museums, rather than barbecuing, isn't exactly Dean's idea of a good time, he's gotta admit that Cas has a way of bringing out the fireworks in just about everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Different Sort of Firework

**Author's Note:**

> So much of this was done after 2am on multiple ocassions that I'm actually terrified of how it's turned out - I haven't read it yet. It hasn't been beta'd either, which is frustrating! I was going to finish early and actually have a beta for once, but I found out last minute that I'll be gone from before the 4th until a little under a week after. So, better to post early unbeta'd than a week late! Sorry if it sucks. Also, I was specifically asked about Lyric and got a request for some more attention to Sunshine. There are both. And once again, I'd like to thank Jayne for all her clever ideas.

“Cas, is our rabbit seriously wearing a sweater?”

It’s the first thing Dean says when he walks through the door, carrying a brown paper grocery bag in each hand. He shivers as he enters; the air conditioner is, as always, blasting at least 10 degrees below what is normal or natural for a flat that is decidedly _not_ a freezer. Cas is sitting on the couch with Sunshine in his hands, running his thumbs over her floppy, velvety ears.

Both rabbit and fallen angel are wearing matching fire engine red sweaters.

Cas tucks Sunshine under one arm and walks over to Dean, taking one bag from him.

“She was cold,” Cas says simply, walking to the kitchen.

Dean follows after. “Where did you even _find_ sweaters for rabbits?”

“The pet store. She is about the size of a small cat.”

“And it just happened to match yours?”

Cas’ tiny smile and hint of blush is just plain friggin adorable. “That was a… fortunate coincidence.”

“Uh huh.”

Dean places his bag on the counter and pulls things out – milk, coffee, etc. Cas does the same with the other bag; he frowns when he pulls a store brand peach pie and a rotisserie chicken from the bag.

“I can cook better than this,” Cas says with a slight undertone of contempt to his voice, “Why did you buy these?”

Dean tries to fight what would probably be a very lecherous smirk. He crosses the room and slips his arms around Cas’ waist, tugging him close. Sunshine makes a tiny noise and Cas shifts his hold on her so that she is cradled between them. Dean leans close so that his lips hover over Cas’; Cas gives him a curious look.

“Wanted to give you the night off,” he says quietly. His smirk is tugging at the edges of his lips, itching to be laced with innuendo. He refrains.

“Mhm,” Cas says, leaning his forehead against Dean’s, “I take it you have _no_ ulterior motives.”

Dean laughs against Cas’ mouth.

“None.”

Cas kisses Dean, drawing it out by dragging his teeth against Dean’s bottom lip. Dean’s smirk wins over.

“You don’t have to buy bad food to sleep with me, Dean,” Cas says, breaking away when Sunshine starts squirming. He puts her down and she bounds away, looking – and Dean will never say this out loud – cute as a goddamn button.

“That so?” Dean asks, going back to putting away the various items from his grocery run.

“Yes. I enjoy having sex with you. I’d like to do it as often as possible, actually. I also enjoy cooking. I don’t see the point in choosing one or the other.”

Dean’s momentarily stuck on ‘ _as often as possible’_. He clears his throat.

“The more time you spend cooking, the less time we have to-“

“We’ll stay up later and sleep in longer,” Cas says, dismissing him, “but since you’ve already bought it, we might as well eat it. Consult me before veering from the shopping list next time.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Y’know, Cas, you have me feeling pretty whipped on a regular basis.”

“You _are_ ‘whipped’, Dean,” Cas says, air quotes and all.

Dean grumbles something unintelligible at that before grabbing plates and loading them with chicken and pie. Cas sighs, exasperated, and grabs a baguette from their bread drawer. He cuts two sandwich-sized pieces and puts one on each plate. Dean grins.

“Thought it was missing something,” he says, pressing a kiss to Cas’ head. Sandwiches made, he takes the plates to the main room so they can watch a movie while they eat. Or, rather, they can eat, pretend to watch a movie and swiftly move on to… _other_ things. He nearly trips over Sunshine on the way, and Cas quickly scoops her up and puts her away.

Dean spies a newspaper cutout on the coffee table when he sets their plates down. He instinctively reaches for it, assuming it’s about a potential hunt. Cas quickly plucks it from his hands and crumples it up. He looks up at Dean sheepishly, like he’s just realized how incriminating that action was. Like a kid caught with a hand in a cookie jar. Dean narrows his eyes.

“Cas. What is that?”

“It’s nothing,” Cas replies evasively, averting his eyes, “I believe Fight Club is on, if you’ll turn on the-“

“What _is_ it, Cas?” Dean snaps. If there’s anything Dean fucking hates, it’s secrets. Cas seems to sense the gravity in Dean’s tone, because he sighs, resigned, and sits on the couch beside Dean. He hands over the balled up article to Dean.

It’s a Help Wanted ad.

**DINER SERVERS, DISHWASHERS AND LINE COOKS WANTED:**

Newly opened busy 50s diner looking to fill staff. Experience preferred but not required for line cooks. No experience necessary for other positions. Apply in person.

Dean reads and rereads the ad and then balls it up again. He pelts it at Cas; it’d be a much more impressive show of anger if the paper wasn’t light and unintimidating. The hostility in the gesture is not lost to Cas, however.

“I thought we had a deal, Cas,” Dean all but hisses, glaring daggers at Cas.

“I wasn’t going to-”

“Or did you forget? Shitty suburban life fucking up your priorities?”

Cas’ mouth snaps shut, and he suddenly looks much less repentant.

“We’re hunters, Cas. We’re not civilians. We _save_ civilians. We _save_ the chefs and the servers and whatever the fuck else.”

Still, Cas is silent. His look is fierce, though, face taut like a bottled tornado with raging hurricanes flickering in the blue of his eyes. Dean has a glare to rival Cas’, and the intensity in Cas’ returning expression is lost to Dean.

“This apartment, Cas? This is just a high class motel. We still have one room and a shitty TV – the only difference is the stove. This is where we fuck and crash between hunts. No one gets a job to support a motel.” In the very, very back of Dean’s mind he’s conscious of the fact that he’s speaking out of fear, a tremendous all-consuming fear of _change_ that begins at his core and courses through his system. All Dean knows is hunting; it’s the only thing he’s good at. Everything else is unknown and it terrifies him. The apple pie life is a dream he never entertains for even the briefest moment.

He knows that this flat is their home, though, knows that they’ve built memories here and that it’s not just a motel. He knows it, but he says the opposite, because he’s scared. Motels and moving all the time and risking his life to save strangers are who Dean _is_. Strip that away, and who is he? He has no fucking idea. Even staying in this flat, in one place indefinitely, is still taking some major adjusting to.

“Shitty suburban life,” Cas echoes when he finally speaks. He’s looking straight into Dean’s eyes; it’s disorienting. “Are you unhappy here, Dean?”

It’s Dean’s turn to be silent. The question has caught him off guard.

“Would you prefer if we went back to travelling all the time? I will not stop you if you do. And I’ll come with you, because you know that I will always follow where you lead. After all, what does it matter where we _fuck_ and _crash between hunts?_ ” Cas asks, spitting the words like venom. Dean recoils, just slightly. His eyes dart to the rows of candles Cas has on every available surface. There’re even two picture frames up. One is a small, long rectangular frame with a set of black and white photobooth pictures of Dean and Cas . The other is a photo they snapped of all of them – Sam, Sarah, Bobby, Cas and Dean – over Father’s Day.

“You’re missing the point,” Dean says.

 

“Enlighten me, then.”

Dean roughly runs a hand through his short, sandy brown hair in frustration.

“If you get a job, when will we go hunting, huh? Weekends?”

Cas heaves a weary sigh.

“It was a whim, Dean. That’s all. I wasn’t going to ask.” Cas’ soft and tired tone effectively deflates the conversation. A weird feeling settles into Dean’s chest, like a tangible vacancy where words ought to be. He has none. Yet again, Cas has caught him off guard.

“If you want to leave,” Cas says, standing from the couch and walking to the closet where they keep their coats, “you’ll have to find a home for Sunshine. Motels are not fond of pets.”

“Cas-“

Cas tugs off his sweater, revealing a thin blue t-shirt underneath, and hangs it up; ironically, it’s warmer outside than it is in their house. He heads for the door.

“Where are you going?” Dean demands.

“For a walk. As you have so tactfully stated, our ‘high class motel’ only has one room.”

And then the front door opens and shuts and Cas is gone. To his credit, Cas does not slam the door. Dean looks at their two unfinished meals and wonders how exactly he managed to word vomit such a fucking horrific flame with such little ignition.

*

Cas returns _hours_ later with red, glassy eyes, smelling of liquid poison. He stumbles in and gives Dean a passive, unreadable look. He sinks into the couch and lays his head against the back of it and laughs at nothing, eyes trained on the ceiling. Dean, on the other hand, has been doing heavy thinking during the hours Cas has been gone. His fingers twitch nervously around the newspaper cut-out – he’s smoothed it out and has read it several times since Cas left.

“I’m sorry, Cas,” he whispers, sitting beside his drunken angel and inching close.

Cas waves the apology off with his hand.

“Can we fuck?” he asks, turning his head to focus on Dean. “I’d like to fuck you.”

Dean frowns.

“I’m trying to apologize here, man.”

“I’m drunk, Dean.”

Dean sucks in a sharp intake of air. Cas rarely drinks, and when he does it’s only ever with Dean and Sam. He didn’t just piss Cas off; he hurt him.

“Will you remember this in the morning?” Dean implores, suddenly slightly desperate to carry through with his apology.

Cas is quiet a moment, clearly contemplating Dean’s question. He nods.

“I believe so.” He seems mostly coherent, so Dean’s inclined to believe him.

Dean kisses him. He tastes like alcohol and bar smoke.

“I love you,” he says when he breaks for air and puts both hands on either side of Cas’ face. “I love our stupid too-small apartment and your candles, man, your stupid girly scented candles. I love our – our kitchen, dude, I’ve never had a kitchen before. My whole life, I never had a goddamn kitchen. I love how the house smells when you bake and how you look in your nerdy aprons. I’m happy, Cas. I’m fucking happy. I’ve never been this happy in my life.”

Cas tilts his head.

“You said-”

Dean shakes his head quickly.

“I’m a dick. I say stupid shit when I…”

“When what?”

Dean sighs.

“When humans want something really, really badly-”

“They lie,” Cas finishes for him. Dean’s surprised that Cas remembered that. Understanding seems to be dawning on Cas, and the tight feeling in Dean’s chest flutters just a bit.

“Yeah.”

“What is it you want, Dean?” Dean really hopes Cas is processing all this and will remember it, because he’s pretty sure he’ll die if he has to have this conversation twice. He forces himself to meet Cas’ eyes, even though he doesn’t want to. Eye contact is important, especially between the two of them.

“I want _this_ ,” he gestures to their flat, “I want what Sam has with his fiancée and his house and his job. I want…” All this talking is starting to feel physically painful. Dean knows he’s on the cusp of _something_ and he doesn’t know if he’s ready… but he wants to be. He doesn’t know how to finish his sentence, can’t form the words ‘apple pie life’ or ‘retire from hunting’. Either admission would be too big for this small moment.

“Let’s put in applications tomorrow,” he says at last, “You’d be an awesome cook.”

Cas doesn’t say anything at first. Dean waits, chewing his bottom lip and feeling inexplicably like a child. Finally, finally, Cas nods.

“Thank you,” he says. It’s not exactly the answer Dean wanted. He wants Cas to know that it’s not a gift and he’s not just humoring him – that this move will be for both of them. He’s run out of words, though, so he doesn’t voice it.

“I love you,” Cas adds, “Irrevocably. You are inherently stubborn, but you wouldn’t be you if you weren’t an asshole.”

This pulls a genuine smile to Dean’s lips. Cas still sounds awkward when he curses, even more so when he’s drunk. Cas crawls into Dean’s lap and Dean tugs him close, clinging to him like he’s afraid he’ll lose him if he lets go. Dean would be content to lie there, huddled together on the couch, until they fall asleep, but soon Cas is mouthing at Dean’s neck and jaw and Dean is very much awake. A sharp nip to the skin below his ear makes Dean gasp and he pulls away so he can look at Cas.

“I’d like to have sex now,” Cas says, sounding adorably earnest in his inebriated state. Dean smiles.

“Eat your dinner and have some coffee first.”

“But Dean-”

“Listen, man, as much as I’d like to skip the formalities and go right to the fucking, I know the rules about make up sex. You’re going to top the fuck out of me and I’d like to make sure you’re as sober as possible for it.”

“Fair enough.”

Twenty minutes later finds Dean bent over with his chest against the kitchen counter, hands pinned down by one of Cas’ hands while his angel fucks him _hard_. Cas’ free hand is covering Dean’s dick, keeping Dean from coming because the guy is a sadistic bastard when he wins for makeup sex. Dean moans louder than he’s used to and his legs feel like they’re going to give out. Cas is panting and whimpering obscenities against Dean’s neck as he slams in again and again, hitting Dean’s prostate with practiced ease each time. Dean’s covered in sweat and he really, _really_ needs to come. Like, _now_. He tries not to beg.

Dean feels Cas shudder and seize before he comes, filling Dean up, moaning Dean’s name gently in his ear. _Now_ Dean begs, broken and choked and wrecked. Cas chuckles, dark and dirty in Dean’s ear and Dean feels like he’s losing his mind.

“Cas, please-”

“No,” Cas retorts harshly, “not yet.”

“Please, God, fuck, Cas,” Dean is vaguely aware that he is absolutely incoherent, spewing words that are mostly nonsense.

“You upset me,” Cas points out through ragged breaths. Dean can hear the amusement in Cas’ voice. This is not fucking _fair_.

… Though Dean would be lying if he said he didn’t like it. This is borderline _too much_ , though. It’s riding the border between fucking amazing and really, really not and Dean’s not sure how long it’ll stay this side of awesome.

“I’m sorry,” Dean pants, “Sorry, Cas, please, let me-” his pleas are broken by a moan he only barely registers as his own. Cas spins Dean around so that they’re facing each other. Dean shuts his eyes, because he’s pretty sure he’s going to lose it if he makes eyes contact with Cas.

Then Cas is on his knees and his hand is gone and is quickly replaced by his mouth. Dean throws his head back and his hips shudder and his whole mind is exploding with how _good_ it feels. Because Cas always makes it worth it, always makes it so fucking good that Dean feels like he’s seeing stars or something equally ridiculous. Cas’ mouth is on him for all of ten seconds before Dean comes in his boyfriend’s mouth. Cas swallows it down like a champ and then smiles up at Dean.

“I love you, Dean,” he says in the deep, gravelly voice of his, made even rougher because it’s directly post-blowjob.

Dean laughs.

“Fuck, Cas. Love you too, man.”

*

They both get the job, the same day they apply. The diner is brand new and grossly understaffed; the manager practically pounced when she heard Dean and Cas ask for applications. As soon as he signs his name on the application, Dean is whisked away to a back room to get interviewed while Cas is pulled into the kitchen to demonstrate his skills. Dean’s interview is brief, all of five minutes.

“How would you describe yourself in one word?” the upbeat blonde associate manager interviewing him asks. She has a notepad and pen on the desk that she doesn’t look like she has any intention of using.

Dean thinks on it for a minute. Then he leans forward and splits a grin fit to make knees weak and gives her the _eyes_ he’s so famous for. “Adorable.”

The woman looks flustered and her cheeks go slightly red. “Oh.” She seems to momentarily forget her next question and Dean nods encouragingly.

“That can’t be the only question,” he says teasingly.

“Right! Um. What qualities do you possess that would make you good for the job?”

Dean contemplates that.

“Fast reflexes, good instincts and a stellar smile,” he replies with a wink. He thinks he hears the girl sigh.

“Can you roller skate?” she asks.

“Yeah. Why?”

She smiles wide.

“Because all the servers wear roller-skates here! It’s a 50s diner. You’ll get an old-fashioned uniform and a pair of roller skates when – er, if you’re employed here.”

Dean is momentarily sidetracked by the mental image of Cas in one of those dorky outfits.

“So when do I start?” he asks, raising his eyebrows in question.

“Oh,” she says again, clearly taken off guard again by Dean’s brazen cockiness. “Um. I have to discuss with the manager if you’re…”

Dean chuckles. “How about we see if my boyfriend gets hired before either of us makes any commitments, huh? Oh – and thanks.”

“Thanks?” she asks, seemingly stuck on the word ‘boyfriend’.

“For the job,” Dean says with a wink, rising from his seat and exiting the small office.

*

Dean is sitting at a booth close to the entrance of the diner, eating a slice of pie, when Cas emerges from the kitchen with his interviewer and the resident chef. Cas is wearing the sort of bright smile that is usually reserved for Dean, and the other two look pleased as well. If there was any doubt before, it’s obvious to Dean that Cas got the job. Cas catches sight of Dean and walks over, taking a seat across from Dean and plucking the fork from his hand.

“I believe was accepted for the position,” Cas says before taking a bite of pie.

“I was, too,” Dean replies with a grin.

The head manager walks over to them with two clipboards and pens.

“Hello, boys,” she says pleasantly, handing one to each of them. “In case you haven’t already guessed, you’re both hired. Just fill out your tax paperwork and we can pick your hours.”

Cas looks positively delighted, and Dean gets that weird feeling in his chest he gets whenever Cas is being, like, _stupid_ adorable, to the point where it’s unfair. If they weren’t in public, right about now would be when he’d be kissing him.

“Sounds good,” Dean says, then gently grabs her arm as she’s turning away to leave them to their paperwork, “Oh – hate to ask so soon, but we need a day off next week.”

The manager raises an eyebrow. Cas looks up from his papers and gives Dean a curious look.

“Really,” she says in a flat, skeptical tone. Dean gives her his million dollar smile and shrugs.

“It’s a holiday,” he says, “and holidays are kind of like, a big deal for us. Really big deal.”

“The fourth of July?” she asks.

“The one and the same.”

The manager frowns. “Alright, but you guys can’t have _every_ holiday off. The way the days work is-“

Dean holds up a hand to silence her. “I’m not takin’ the job if my angel can’t have his holidays.” He’s wagering on the fact that, looking around, he sees the staff to customer ratio is way off. He’s pretty sure they need him and Cas. The manager is silent. Cas has an unreadable expression as he watches Dean. Finally the manager sighs and runs a hand through her dark hair.

“Fine,” she says, not unkindly, “But don’t tell the other employees, okay? You’ve got killer waiter charisma and your friend here is an amazing cook. ”

“Boyfriend,” Dean corrects easily. The woman looks from one man to the other; Dean doesn’t like the expression on her face.

“You two are together?”

“Hope that won’t be a problem.”

The woman smiles.

“Not at all. But the employee PDA rules apply to couples of _all_ orientations,” she adds with a wink, “so paws off when you’re on duty. No one cares what mischief you two get up to on your break.”

Dean decides that he likes her.

*

“What should we do for Independence Day?” Cas asks. They’re sitting in the car and are headed for Newark, NJ, where signs of a resident water wraith have surfaced. The sun is setting and Dean idly wonders why they never hunt anything during the damn day. At Cas’ question, he chuckles.

“Normal people call it the Fourth of July, Cas.”

“Isn’t Independence Day on the fourth of July?”

“Well, yeah, either one is correct – call it whatever you want. And I don’t know, man, holidays are your thing. Fourth of July is pretty much fireworks and a barbecue. Which I’m down for, if you want.”

Cas nods.

“I am very eager to see the fireworks.”

“They’re cool. Sam and I almost set a field on fire with our own, once.”

“Your own?” Cas looks incredulous.

“Yeah – God, Cas, not the giant ones they shoot off at cities and shit. The cheesy ones they sell for people to set off on their own.”

“Oh,” Cas says, looking very relieved.

“So are we inviting my giant brother and his hot fiancée to our shindig? Whatever it is we’re doing.”

“I spoke with Sarah, and she and Sam will be spending their holiday at a gathering with her family, so this one will be the two of us.”

Dean smiles.

“I’m game for a cheesy romantic holiday.”

“I would like that as well.”

They drive on in affable silence for a moment, both of them absorbed in their own thoughts. Dean’s thoughts are jumping back and forth between mentally gagging over what a girl he’s become and musing about potential Fourth of July sex. Dean figures the amount of fantastic (manly) sex they have might override the girliness thing.

“Aside from fireworks and barbecues,” Cas inquires eventually, “what is the purpose behind this holiday?”

“Uh – some American history shit. I don’t know, Cas, I dropped out of high school.”

Cas nods thoughtfully.

“The country’s independence, then.”

“Yeah. I think we screwed over England and fucked up their tea.”

“Their tea? Dean… that is not the story of your country.”

Dean shrugs. “It’s the abridged version.”

“We should go to Philadelphia for the holiday,” Cas concludes decidedly.

“Why? What’s in Philadelphia?”

“History. The Liberty Bell, for instance. Independence Hall, the National Constitution Center-”

“How do you _know_ all this?”

“-Franklin Court, the Betsy Ross House. Philadelphia was originally meant to be the nation’s capital.”

Dean raises an eyebrow. “You’re a nerd. Most people barbecue.”

“Humans barbecue for so many occasions,” Cas comments wearily.

“ _Americans_ barbecue for friggin everything.”

“No holiday would be special if we followed that tradition. We must be _creative_.”

Dean parks near a creek in a vacant parking lot and pulls out a silver knife; they’ve reached their destination. The knife glints in the moonlight reflected off the water outside.

“That’s why you’re in charge of holidays. Ready to gank this son of a bitch?”

Cas nods. “Yes.”

*

They arrive home smelling of salt water and sand, weary from the hunt and the long drive home. They both simultaneously sink into the couch side-by-side. Cas has several scratches across his face and Dean can feel an ugly bruise blooming under his ribs.

“Let’s just go to bed,” Dean says sleepily, nuzzling into Cas’ neck.

“We smell like lake and sweat, Dean.”

Dean whines.

“I don’t think I can stand up, dude. Much less take a shower. I’m beat.”

“So we’ll take a bath, then,” Cas says simply, dismissively. Dean perks up at the _we_ in that sentence. Cas notices.

“ _Only_ a bath, Dean. Our first day of work is tomorrow. We need rest.”

Dean groans.

“Let’s call out sick.”

“Your work ethic is deplorable.”

“Psh. You love me.”

“I do.” He gives Dean a quick kiss and then stands up and stretches. He winces, clearly hurt from their particularly strenuous hunt, before walking off toward the bathroom.

“Bubbles?” Cas asks over his shoulder.

“Do you even have to ask?”

Cas’ chuckle is fond.

“I suppose not.”

*

Dean’s pretty sure he gets better tips his first day on the job than the average low-end stripper gets in a night. His pretty eyes, killer smile and effortless charm and banter are an instant hit with diner patrons. The diner’s 50s theme and his coordinating uniform add to his charm. His roller blades, button up shirt, red bow tie and soda jerk hat are a dapper combination, and Dean quickly finds that he much prefers this over hustling pool. Getting to make people smile for a living isn’t the worst thing in the world.

Every time Dean goes to the kitchen window to pick up plates and drop off orders, he catches sight of Cas. Cas is wearing his own uniform, stupid hat and bow tie and all with an apron, even though he can’t really be seen by the people dining. Dean figures it’s for authenticity’s sake.  When they lock eyes each time, they both smile. Cas is in his element in the kitchen, artfully filling out each order with a sort of passion that low-paid diner cooks don’t usually have. Every now and then Dean gets to catch a glimpse of Cas dicing something, and he takes a moment to admire his boyfriend’s hands. They’re slender and long but unquestionably strong.

Towards the end of his shift, Dean gets assigned to a table with two familiar faces.

“Dean!” squeals the voice of a small girl before he’s even made it to that side of the diner. There’s a tiny hand waggling above a booth table and Dean stares at it, confused. Once he skates up to the table, though, he understands completely.

“Lyric! Hey little buddy,” he says, grinning ear to ear at the little girl he hasn’t seen in months.

“Mommy, Mommy, do you remember-“

The little girl’s mother smiles.

“Yes, I remember, love.” She directs her smile to Dean. “How could I forget? You talked about him for a week and a half after meeting him.”

“And his husband!” Lyric chirps cheerfully. Her mother laughs.

“Yes. And his husband.”

“Boyfriend,” Dean corrects, but his smile is still wide and he doesn’t feel nearly as uncomfortable by the assumption as he might have been couple months ago.

Lyric’s expression looks scandalized.

“Boyfriend! Why? When are you getting married?”

Dean can feel himself going red and he curses himself for it. Thankfully, Lyric’s mom comes to the rescue.

“Lyric, that is a very rude question. Now let the poor man do his job! You’re holding him up.”

“But Mommy, they’re in _love_ -“

Lyric’s mother gives Dean an apologetic look.

“I’m sorry. She’s a hopeless romantic. Way too much Disney for her own good. She keeps complaining there are no gay princes…” she chuckles. Dean laughs as well.

“It’s good to know the next generation’s on top of things,” he says, winking at Lyric, who bursts into giggles. “Now, can I start you two off with something to drink?”

Lyric orders a milkshake (very enthusiastically) and her mother orders water. Dean promises to be back soon with their drinks and to take their orders and he skates off, unable to shake the grin from his face.

Dean really likes little kids. There’s a train of thought he nearly goes down, but a server to his right accidentally trips on her skates and sends a mess of root beer floats crashing to the floor. Dean hastens to help her and the train of thought is averted entirely. Car seats and cribs and high chairs are quickly forgotten.

*

“Her name’s Jayne,” Dean tells Cas as he sits beside him at their kitchen table. They opted for takeout from the diner for dinner because by the time work was over, they were both beat and didn’t feel like waiting to eat. “Lyric’s mom, I mean. She said Lyric’s grandma came down for the summer so she didn’t end up needing a babysitter. She might in September, though.”

“I take it you’re interested?” Cas says, wearing a bemused expression as he transfers their food from takeout boxes to plates.

“Well, I mean,” Dean says awkwardly, “Yeah, I guess. I don’t know. Doesn’t really matter either way.”

“Right. Never mind the fact that you’ve been talking about the little girl since we got in the car.”

“Whatever,” Dean says dismissively. “What kind of pie did you get?”

“I got cake. We always have pie, Dean.”

“ _Cake?_ ” Dean whines.

“Yes, Dean. I assure you it’s good; I made it myself.”

“Traitor.”

“I’m tired of pie, Dean. We always have pie.”

“ _Blasphemy_.”

Cas snorts.

“I’m a fallen angel, Dean.”

“You are so making this up to me in sexual favors.”

“They’re not favors if I’m enjoying them as much as you are.”

This shuts Dean up. He looks at Cas and meets his gaze and _fuck_ if he doesn’t like what he sees there.

“Is this you promising me a blow job later?”

“Anything you wish.”

Dean sucks in a sharp breath of air.

“Well, fuck.”

“That’s the general idea.”

*

“So where are we going to watch fireworks? In Philadelphia or at one of the high schools around here?” Dean asks Cas. It’s a day before the Fourth of July and they’re in a thrift store, going through the sweater rack. It’s about 90 degrees Fahrenheit outside.

“Perhaps we could go to both,” Cas says distantly, gaze intent on the rack of sweaters.

“Dude, there’s no way we can do two. We’ll end up missing the finale of both. And that’s the best part.” Cas doesn’t answer; he’s biting his lip thoughtfully and scrutinizing each sweater thoroughly.

“Are you listening to me?” Dean persists, only mildly annoyed.

“I need an Independence Day sweater, Dean!” Cas says, sounding mildly desperate. “Surely there should be at least _one_ …”

“Dude, Cas. Fourth of July happens in _summer_. We’re in the tri-state area. The low is like 80 degrees at night, on a good day. Nobody wears sweaters in July. You’ll overheat.”

“I will find one.”

“Stubborn angel.”

“I believe I learned it from you.”

“Nah , you came like this.”

“No, I think it has something to do with being a Winchester.”

Dean seriously likes how that sounds. _Castiel Winchester_. It works.

… He realizes what he’s thinking and the implications of it all at once and he panics. “I’m, uh – I’ll go look on the other side of the store.”

Dean doesn’t find a Fourth of July sweater, but he does find a neat oversized t-shirt that makes him think of Cas instantly. It’s hideous, just like all of Cas’ sweaters. The shirt is black with fireworks and stars all over it. Each tiny star has an American flag design within. The sleeves are cut off, which makes it look a little better, but it is, all in all, an eyesore.

Naturally, he buys it for Cas.

Cas is looking incredibly disappointed, obviously unsuccessful in his sweater search, when Dean catches up with him. His eyes light up when he sees the t-shirt, though. He gives Dean a quick kiss. They’re not much for PDA normally, so it catches Dean off guard. Cas obviously really, really likes the shirt.

“Thank you, Dean.”

“No problem, my little freedom fighter.”

*

Dean wakes up on the morning of the Fourth of July to the feeling of lips on his ear. His first conscious noise is a sharp gasp. He opens his eyes to find a set of blue eyes close to his.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas murmurs, breath tickling Dean’s ear. Dean shivers and blinks several times before he grins.

“Mornin’, Sunshine,” he says, tilting his head so he can kiss Cas. “There a reason you’re waking me up the sexy way?”

“Only to tease you; breakfast is already done. It’s on the table.” Cas presses a quick kiss to Dean’s forehead before getting up and walking off. Dean groans.

“You’re a dick, y’know that?” he calls after Cas. He sits up and stretches before plodding sleepily along after Cas.

As promised, breakfast is on the table, paired with a steaming mug of coffee for Dean. The breakfast is, unsurprisingly, Fourth of July themed. A small stack of golden, fluffy pancakes is on each plate, covered with raspberries and blueberries – a red, white, and blue color scheme. Dean snickers and takes a seat next to Cas.

“Are you seriously that patriotic, dude?”

Cas shakes his head.

“No. I’ve been to almost every country on the planet and have loved them all. They are all my Father’s… They are all special in their own ways. This is simply the one where I found you, so I am slightly partial to it. But I am merely honoring the holiday.”

“Yeah, well, it’s cute.” Dean seriously, _seriously_ needs to stop saying this shit out loud. Cas seems to absorb the compliment through some sort of pleased, contented osmosis and Dean doesn’t regret it _too_ much.

“Thank you, Dean,” Cas replies. Then, after a beat, “You are… ‘cute’, as well.”

Dean turns beet red and groans.

“My life has become a chick flick.” Cas tilts his head and gives Dean a confused, sideways glance.

“You say that often.”

“Because this relationship is really, really gay.”

Cas looks even more confused now.

“We _are_ homosexual lovers, Dean.” Dean groans again and cradles his forehead in his hands.

“Don’t phrase it like that! I mean, don’t get me wrong, I don’t have a problem that I’m into dudes and chicks, but ‘homosexual lovers’ sounds fruity as hell.”

Cas frowns. “Lovers, then.”

Dean looks up at Cas.

“Yeah, I like that.

*

Philadelphia is packed. Apparently there’s a big festival happening in the city in honor of the holiday. There are people everywhere who have showed up for food and live entertainment. It’s a sea of red, white and blue.

Dean and Cas opt out of it. The leisurely day they have planned seems far more appealing than the throbbing mass of people. Cas is way more excited about the museums than whoever is playing live in concert. Dean’s content to follow wherever his nerd angel leads. They find a parking garage as close as they can get to where they’re going before traffic becomes an immovable blockade and walk the rest of the way.

The first stop on their touristy adventure is the Liberty Bell. The place is surprisingly vacant; it seems all the people in town for the holiday aren’t interested in the history behind it. Cas is, though. When they get to the bell – which is seriously just this big, ugly cracked bell with utterly no significance to Dean – Cas studies it like some sort of archaeologist unearthing some hidden relic.

“This is anticlimactic,” Dean says, peering close at the ugly thing. Cas looks genuinely confused.

“This is _interesting_ ,” Cas says, as though correcting Dean. “Have you read the inscription?”

“There’s an inscription?” Dean asks, which is an answer in and of itself. He reads it now, though: _Proclaim Liberty throughout all the land unto all the inhabitants thereof_. He wrinkles his nose. “Sounds like a bible verse or something.”

“Leviticus 25:10,” Cas agrees immediately. Dean snorts.

“Nerd.”

The place the Liberty Bell is housed in (appropriately named the ‘Liberty Bell Center’) is oozing with historical facts about it. Cas soaks it all up like a geeky little sponge, and Dean can’t help but think that Sam would be jizzing himself over all this useless info, too. Dean isn’t entirely sure how he ended up with female librarians for both a brother and boyfriend.

Dean doesn’t see the point of any of this. One part of the museum has x-rays of the inside of the Bell. _X-rays_. It makes absolutely no sense to Dean, but Cas seems pleased. There’s a section with a short History Channel film on the historic icon, and halfway through Dean forgets to be disillusioned. The Liberty Bell apparently has history with abolitionists and suffragists and lots of other cool shit, and he starts to reflect on how something inanimate can become so powerful and symbolic. He absently plays with his amulet while he’s watching, with Cas settled close against him.

… So, okay, sometimes history is cool.

They go straight from the Liberty Bell Center to Independence Hall, which is… _slightly_ more interesting. This, at least, is a guided tour. They’re taken from room to room of the Hall and each place’s significance is explained by a rather monotone National Park ranger. Cas is extremely into it, though, and it’s infectious. While Dean can’t actually bring himself to give a shit about what the tour guide is saying, he spends the time watching Cas and enjoying every minute of what he sees. Cas’ brow wrinkles when he’s deep in thought and his eyes light up when he learns something he deems interesting. It’s like a multitude of microscopic epiphanies are written all over Cas’ face the whole tour, and Dean realizes again _(again!)_ that he is hopelessly, blissfully in love.

Because, seriously, only love could make him sit through this shit and actually enjoy it.

The day passes like this, with new historical attractions that Cas manages to make enjoyable simply by being himself. It dawns on Dean that Cas is probably really in his element right now. He was stationed on Earth for thousands of years – his only job was probably to observe. Suffice it to say, Cas likes learning. It must be something new and wonderful to be able to learn in such a hands-on way, by participating instead of watching invisibly from the sidelines. Dean wants to ask why Cas doesn’t already know this shit – because, y’know, wasn’t he _alive_ when all this happened? – but he doesn’t. He’s not sure why, but he thinks that whatever the answer might be could possibly, inexplicably put a damper on Cas’ enthusiasm. Dean decides it’s not important anyway.

The National Constitution Center was meant to be the last stop on their tourist hotspot binge, but it’s disappointingly swarming with people. It seems to be the very heart of all the festivities. Dean and Cas exchange looks briefly. It’s about an hour or so past sunset, now; fireworks won’t be going off for at least an hour or two more.

“Where should we go?” Cas asks, and Dean goes through a mental list of everything he knows about Philadelphia. All he can think of is LOVE Park – which is fitting, really, and he’s always wanted to go there, so he suggests it to Cas. Cas has no qualms, so they set off. They stop for hot dogs on the way and Dean asks for directions; it turns out they’re already on the right street. They head straight down until they reach the iconic red LOVE statue and the impressive fountain beside it.

Even with the sun down, it’s sticky and hot like only the tri-state area in summer can be. There are people milling about, some sitting on the edges of the fountain with their feet dipped in. A few more bold ones are wading into the shallow, ankle-deep water. They’re mostly kids, splashing around while their parents look on. The fountain is lit up from the inside and provides most of the light for the otherwise dark park.

“Augh, that water looks good,” Dean comments as they make their way to the edge of the fountain, “Those kids have the right idea.”

“Agreed.”

They sit side by side at the edge of the fountain and are quiet a moment, listening to the sound of the fountain water splashing and children playing. Dean leans against Cas and Cas leans back. It’s a nice, quiet moment, even if the heat nearly has Dean wishing for an air-conditioned museum. He watches the fountain a little while longer before he abruptly stands up and starts pulling off his shirt.

“Dean?” Cas inquires, confused.

“We’re going to get deep fried before we get to the fireworks, man,” Dean says in explanation. He toes off his socks and shoes, quickly tugs off his jeans, takes a deep breath, and darts into the fountain in his boxers. The immediate feeling of cold chill on his feet and ankles is wonderful, but Dean doesn’t stop there. He splashes his way up to the fountainhead itself and lets the gloriously cold spray cascade over him. He looks at Cas through the water, laughing at his own ridiculousness, and sees his angel staring back with wide, round and slightly panicked eyes. Dean also notes a few people looking at him like he’s crazy, but he ignores them.

“C’mon, Cas!” Dean calls, waving Cas over. Cas looks around hesitantly.

“C’mon!” Dean calls again. He knows if he goes over there, Cas will calmly and logically convince him to get out of the fountain. Cas is good at that. Dean hopes, maybe, that from here…

To Dean’s pleasure, he sees Cas stand to his feet and shuck off the awful patriotic t-shirt he’s wearing and take off his shoes as well. He hesitates on the edge of the fountain and looks up at Dean. Dean throws him a wide grin and opens his arms like a hug, but Cas stands cemented to the spot. One of the little kids playing rushes over to Cas and motions for Cas to lean over so he can whisper in Cas’ ear. Cas nods at whatever it is the kid tells him and the kid runs off. From where Dean is, he can see the deep breath Cas takes from the pronounced rise and fall of his chest before he pulls off his shoes and loses his jeans. He looks up, makes eye contact for an intense moment, and then runs to Dean, kicking up water in his path.

Dean drags him under the spray as well and they’re both drenched, hair soaked to their scalps. Dean wraps an arm around Cas’ waist and holds Cas’ hand with his free one. They spin around in a little dance, steps made slow and awkward because of the water. Dean’s smiling so hard his face hurts.

“What’d the kid tell you?” Dean asks over the roar of the fountain.

“He said, ‘your boyfriend is waiting, asshole, grow a pair and go get him’.” Cas chuckles in a fond sort of way.

“What? He looked, like, eight.”

“We _are_ in the city, Dean.”

“Fair enough.” Dean notes as sort of an afterthought that Cas is wearing patriotic, American flag boxers. He’s too caught up in the moment to comment… but God if that isn’t just fucking _weird_. Dean’s boyfriend is the worst (and best) kind of nerd.

Once they’re adequately cooled off, they wade their way back to their discarded clothing and sit on the concrete beside it, letting themselves dry. The night is entirely dark, now, and Dean figures they’ve got less than an hour before the fireworks start. It dawns on him that they never decided where to see them go off.

“What are those?” Cas asks, pointing at a group of children a little ways away. Each child is holding what appears to be a tiny firework on a stick. Upon closer examination, Dean sees that the lights are actually sparklers. Dean looks around and spies a man who appears to be selling them.

“Be right back,” Dean says, hopping to his feet and sprinting over to the salesman. A couple dollars and a quick transaction later, Dean returns with a grin.

“You’ll love these, Cas,” Dean says, pulling two sparklers from their box and plucking a match from the matchbook sold with the sparklers.

“What are they?”

“Sparklers, man. Handheld fireworks,” Dean replies. Dean responds to Cas’ inquisitive glance by striking the match and lighting both sparklers. With a subdued fizzing noise, the sticks come to life in an excited agitation of sparkling light. Dean hands one to Cas, who looks completely mesmerized. Dean feels a swell of excitement in his chest; if Cas is this pleased with some stupid sparklers, he can’t wait to see the look on his face when the real deal explode across the sky.

Cas is watching the sparkler slowly flicker out, and Dean won’t have that.

“No, man, you gotta… I don’t know, fuck around with them. Spin them and make designs in the air, y’know. Have fun.”

“They’re on fire.”

Dean laughs.

“Only technically. C’mon, Cas, trust me.”

Cas does. They go through the whole box, and then another, lighting them up and twirling them around all over the park. Dean feels like a kid again. The park is dark, but Dean can see Cas’ eyes and the way the white light reflects in it like little orbs and he loves how it looks. All Cas’ features look as alive as the sparkler he’s holding, and it’s a far more beautiful sight to behold than the cheap fire trick.

Once they’ve made it through the second box, Dean remembers the time and remembers that they still haven’t chosen where they’re watching the fireworks. Dean doesn’t know very much about Philadelphia, so he has no idea where he’s going to have the best view.

“We need to find a local and ask where the best fireworks spot is,” Dean tells Cas, and they both look around. The park is starting to empty out; it’s getting late and fireworks will be starting soon.

“How about the man selling the sparklers?” Cas suggests. Seems like as good an idea as any, so Dean tells Cas to hang on a sec and heads over to the man.

“Back for more sparklers?” the man asks with a warm smile when Dean reaches him. The man is old, probably in his mid-sixties, with kind eyes that suggest he sells sparklers simply for the joy of watching the happiness they bring people, rather than any monetary gain. He vaguely reminds Dean of Joshua. Dean returns the man’s smile easily.

“Nah, if I give him any more, he’ll wear himself out before the real show begins. Which is why I’m here – do you know any good spots to watch the fireworks? It’s packed by Independence Hall and… I don’t know, I kinda want to give the guy the best seats I can. I think these are his first fireworks.”

The man nods knowingly.

“You two are in love?” he asks, and Dean is caught off guard. Not exactly the answer he was expecting, but Dean’s not ashamed so he answers boldly, regardless.

“Yes.”

The man nods again.

“If you would be willing to humor an old man, I could show you myself.”

Logically, meeting a strange old man in the middle of Philadelphia at night and agreeing to get into a car with him to go to some unknown destination would be a bad idea. But Dean prides himself on having phenomenal instincts, and he can’t read anything but good intent on this guy. He gives him a once over and then meets his eyes, which seal it for him.

“Yeah?”

“Yes,” the man says, “but we should hurry; they’ll be starting soon.”

The man starts to put away his sparklers and Dean beckons Cas over. Cas looks characteristically confused and curious, a combination that is completely adorable, as per usual. Dean doesn’t explain, partly because he has no idea where they’re going himself, and partly because he wants to keep that endearing look on Cas’ face.

*

The Sparkler Man was not kidding when he said he knew the most beautiful place in the city to see the fireworks.

As soon as Dean sees the edge of the water of the Schuylkill River, it makes perfect sense. He can instantly picture how amazing everything will look from the shore, with the horizon so wide in front of them, stretching over the dark water. Once they’ve parked, Dean’s all set to thank the guy when he realizes that the man is busying himself with untying whatever is attached to the roof of his car, under a tarp. Dean and Cas quickly rush to help him – and then it makes even _more_ sense.

It’s a boat.

“Oh, dude, you don’t have to-“ Dean starts to say, but the man holds up a hand to quiet him and shakes his head.

“It is my pleasure. My wife and I spent our first Fourth of July as a married couple in a boat on that river, watching fireworks. That was forty years ago. I think she’d… I think she’d have liked to see this boat of mine get some use. Particularly such a good one as this.”

“Thank you very much, sir,” Cas says firmly, shaking the man’s hand in that awkward way of his. The man seems to find it charming and not weird, which is what Dean was hoping, and he smiles at Cas.

“No need to thank me. As I said, the pleasure is mine.”

The man only asks that they tie the boat up by a nearby tree once they’re done with it, despite protests from Dean and Cas about the boat’s security there. The man insists it’ll be fine and they can do no more than believe him. He goes as far as helping them cast off from the shore before he goes, waving out the window of his car as he drives away.

“That was… freakishly nice,” Dean comments as he paddles his oar. It takes them a second to get into a rhythm that doesn’t have them turning in circles, but it doesn’t take too long to figure out.

“He was a very kind man,” Cas agrees quietly, looking up at the sky. Dean can tell that Cas is excited, in that muted way of his, anxious to see the sky set fire with color. The excitement is contagious, and Dean finds himself slightly antsy. They make it to the middle of the river in no time, and all they have left to do is wait.

“Dean?” Cas asks after they’ve been silent for a while, each lost in their own thoughts.

“Yeah?”

“You make me very happy.”

Dean likes the way the words sound coming from Cas’ lips, and he can’t help but lean forward and give Cas a gentle kiss. The boat rocks slightly because of the shift in movement – but the sudden crash of sound that resonates through the air nearly makes Dean lose his balance. The first firework has been set off…

… and holy shit. The light from the sky reflects off the water in a way that is breathtaking. The river around them has become a dark canvas mimicking the sky, painting an image of everything its counterpart creates. The first firework is a bright explosion of pink followed by a dense burst of gold, glittery stars. The light fills the sky and the water around them simultaneously, and it’s nearly overwhelming. Crackles and loud bangs announce more fireworks bursting into life, creating a symphony to accompany the visual masterpiece.

It’s one of the most spectacular fireworks shows Dean’s ever seen, real or on TV, but Dean doesn’t watch the sky or water for very long. It’s only Cas he has eyes for, and the light show he sees in Cas’ eyes far surpasses anything he might see anywhere else. The thundering in Dean’s heart is the soundtrack.

As always with Cas, the beauty is in the subtly. There’s the way his mouth falls just slightly – ever, ever so slightly – apart, like he’s a tiny bit stunned by what he’s seeing. There’s the sight of his face silhouetted by so many colorful explosions, bright colors dancing across his skin like vibrant shadows. There’s the way his grip on the oar relaxes and tenses again, just barely perceptibly, every now and then, because he’s _that_ into it, that caught up that he nearly forgets to hold on.

The best, of course, is in Cas’ eyes. Cas is not, by nature, very expressive. He doesn’t smile often, even when he’s happy, and laughs are hard won. Dean can always tell how Cas is feeling, though, because he knows Cas’ eyes better than anything. Those blue eyes look best when they’re happy, and right now Cas is ecstatic. Dean watches Cas, his own personal firework show, and thinks that he is beautiful. It’s a sappy sentiment and not one he intends to make out loud, but he quietly revels in the knowledge of it. He’s sitting in a boat on a river with a beautiful not-quite-angel who is in love with him. It’s kind of surreal.

There’s a dramatic lapse in fireworks when the show is nearly over, and Cas pries his eyes from the sky and looks at Dean.

“That was-“

“Not yet.”

“What?”

“It’s not over yet.”

“But, Dean-“

Cas’ confusion is interrupted by a barrage of explosions and a spectacular display from the sky and mirroring display from the water. The finale by far steals the show, and manages to steal their attention as well. Dean’s never seen such phenomenal fireworks, not in all his years watching the New Years’ ball drop on TV or seeing them set off in films. He’s not sure if Philadelphia’s just _that_ good at fireworks or if it’s because Cas is beside him, or both, but Dean is feeling a sort of childlike awe he hasn’t felt since… well, childhood.

When at last the final firework makes its lovely mark across the horizon, Dean and Cas both look at each other at once. Dean can’t think of anything to say, and Cas can’t seem to either, but kissing seems like a suitable solution for the inability to speak.

“Happy Independence Day, Dean,” Cas says once they’ve ceased and are gathering up their oars to paddle back.

“Happy Fourth of July, Cas.”

*

When they make it home, some of the kids further down the block are dicking around with street fireworks Dean is not sure they are even legally allowed to set off in Media. It’s all in good fun, though, and Dean cheers for them as he drives by, grateful that they waited until he passed before setting off another. When they arrive in front of their flat, Dean and Cas can hear the faint sound of fireworks that are a pale comparison to the ones in the city. Dean cuts the engine and looks at Cas, who leans over and kisses him.

This kiss is considerably less chaste than the ones exchanged on the boat, which were laced with all sorts of symbolism that would probably make Dean dizzy if he thought about it deeply enough. This is much more probing and with an undertone of a promise, and Dean mentally fist pumps.

Dean bites at Cas’ lip and the sigh Cas sucks in is loud enough to fill the car. He reaches beside Dean adjusts the seat, sliding it back so he has room to crawl over Dean and straddle his waist. Dean’s pulse goes wild. His hands find Cas’ hips below the fabric of his stupid oversized shirt and Dean rubs circles over them with his thumbs, feeling the way Cas body moves towards the touch. Outside, a rather dramatic firework crashes loudly and startles them both.

“We should go inside,” Cas says in that deep, throaty way that indicates that play time is _over_ and Dean needs no further request to pull the keys from the car and lead them to the front door. Dean can barely get his keys in the doorknob because Cas instantly has him pushed against the door, pressing his mouth against Dean’s neck. Dean’s breathing is unsteady and he nearly drops the keys twice before they make it in the door.

Another obnoxious firework goes off, but Dean’s all set to ignore it and start helping Cas out of his clothing. He is, that is, until he hears a rather frantic skittering noise coming from somewhere in the room. Cas freezes, too, and flicks on the light switch behind them. It takes no guesswork to determine the cause of the noise.

“Sunshine is frightened,” Cas says quietly, shimmying out of Dean’s grasp to their rabbit’s cage. Dean groans.

“She’ll be fine,” he says, walking over to Cas and slipping a hand around his waist from behind, trying to keep him from opening the cage by pressing kisses to the back of his neck. Cas tenses immediately – he _always_ does, Dean knows the back of Cas’ neck is most sensitive – but another bang from outside sets Sunshine racing around her tiny cage madly again, and Cas composes himself.

“No, Dean,” he says, taking the terrified animal from her cage and tugging her close, “we can continue once our neighbors have gone to sleep.”

“But _Cas_ ,” Dean whines, miserable at the sight of Cas sinking into the couch with their pet and getting comfortable.

“I cannot sleep with you, knowing our animal is afraid.”

“Augh.” Dean stares at the sight of Cas and the bunny on the couch for a moment. It’d be damn cute if said bunny wasn’t being a total cockblock right now.

“I’ll be right back,” Dean says decidedly, and turns around and walks out the door. The neighboring kids are more than happy to oblige to his threats of ‘ _Pack it up or I’m calling the fucking cops, I’m trying to get laid here!’_ Dean’s gone all of five minutes.

“Can we have sex now?” Dean asks irritably when he gets back in, taking Sunshine from Cas without waiting for an answer.

“Are they done?”

Dean locks Sunshine in her cage.

“Oh, they’re _done_.”

“Then get on the bed.”

Dean does as he’s told, stripping off his shirt in the process. He sits on the bed and waits as Cas lights candles and shuts off the lights. Dean still can never tell if Cas is being romantic or if he really just likes his candles that much. He likes to think it’s a little of both. Cas shucks his own shirt and tugs off his jeans and boxers before striding over to the bed. Before climbing in, he pulls off Dean’s jeans and boxers himself, unzipping them slowly and pointedly first before yanking them somewhat aggressively all the way down. Then he gets onto the bed, body pressed against Dean’s, and he brings his mouth to Dean’s ear. His stubble presses against the skin there, and Dean shudders with his whole body.

“How do you want me?” Cas breathes in a gravel whisper that makes Dean’s hair stand on end.

“I want to fuck you,” Dean gasps in response. Cas nods and starts to move, but Dean grabs his arm to stop him. “No. Like this. I want to watch you –“ Cas distracts him by threading their legs together and pushing down with his hips. Dean bucks up automatically and bites back a noise, trying to finish his sentence. “-I want to watch you come apart above me, Cas.” _Like a firework._ “Ride me.”

Cas’ response is a barely inaudible sound and a very audible ragged breathing. Without breaking apart from Dean, he reaches a hand blindly over the edge of the bed for lube. Cas presses the bottle into Dean’s hand and then situates himself so that he’s straddling Dean’s waist.

Dean’s first slicked-up finger makes Cas gasp and arch backward into it; one more brings a host of very satisfying broken breathing. The third finger manages to hit that _spot_ and gain a sharp “ _oh!”_ from Cas that sounds like a cut-short moan. Dean’s half content to finger-fuck his boyfriend into oblivion; Cas is writhing and making fucking phenomenal noises soon enough, pressing into Dean’s fingers as his own hands tangle in the sheets. It’s when Cas’ hand comes to fist at his own dick that Dean decides it’s high time he was inside his angel. He lightly bats Cas’ hand away and flexes up suggestively with his hips. Cas whimpers.

“Stop teasing,” he hisses, glaring at Dean. Dean smirks up at him.

“But baby, that’s practically your M.O.”

“Not a baby, Dean. And I prefer the teasing when I’m the one-“

Dean thrusts up again with a wicked grin, and Cas’ glare amps up ten degrees.

 _“Get inside me, Dean,”_ Cas orders, with all the omnipotent implications as his first declaration of _I am an Angel of the Lord_.

… Well, fuck. As if Dean’s immediate compliance was not already assumed (because, really, how could he _not_?), Cas takes the initiative of lining Dean’s dick up and taking him in before Dean’s even able to process the command.

Dean throws his head back against his pillow, eyes shut tight, and moans because holy _fuck_ if this position isn’t all kinds of amazing pressure. His mouth forms an open ‘o’ and his chest heaves. He waits with his whole body for Cas to move; but he doesn’t.

“Cas – please, move, Cas –“

“Open your eyes.”

Dean does as he’s told, forcing one eye open to look at Cas. Cas’ chest is shuddering just as hard as Dean’s, if not more; his forehead has a thin sheen of sweat and his eyes are lust-blown.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Dean gasps, because it’s the only word he has to describe how fucking hot the sight he’s seeing right now is.

“I want your eyes open,” Cas pants. “I want you to watch.”

“God, yes, anything you want, please just – _fuck_.” Dean’s sentence is cut short because Cas complies to his unfinished plea; he moves. His body rocks in an unpracticed rhythm at first, but it doesn’t take long for each thrust to become calculated and precise and fucking perfect. Dean’s eyes keep wanting to flicker shut but, true to his word, he keeps them open. Cas’ eyes are open too, and it’s like Dean’s being fucked twice; the heat of their eye contact alone could probably get Dean off.

Cas leans forward and entwines his fingers with Dean’s, clenching their hands together in a vice grip as he moves. Cas is closer, now, and Dean can see every detail in his face. The short and sharp gasps he makes with each push of his hips send electricity through Dean’s spine.

Dean can feel himself riding the edge of release and he wants to take Cas with him. With the hand already slicked up, he takes hold of Cas’ dick and jerks him off, trying to keep in time with Cas’ motions. He’s not entirely successful, but the onslaught of nonsense sounds pouring from Cas’ mouth seem to imply that it doesn’t matter.

Cas comes first and it’s beautiful watching him like this, seeing his muscles seize up and his eyes fall shut as he cries out. This sight is what sends Dean over the top and he follows Cas soon after with a choked utterance of Cas’ name. Cas has just enough energy post-climax to pull off Dean before collapsing on top of him. They lay like that silently for a moment, both composing themselves. Finally, Dean laughs.

“Baby, you’re a firework,” he says.

“What?”

“It’s a Katy Perry – you know what, forget I said that. I love you, Cas.”

“… I love you as well, Dean.”

 


End file.
